The Magnificent Mess of a Girl Called Chris
by kimsvy
Summary: I was a rather marvelous mess to begin with, the tangled knots that made up my life something to be looked at in contempt, or perhaps awe, depending on who it was that happened to be looking. This great and unprecedented Change broke me; it made me fall apart. And maybe that was horrible, but perhaps it was a good thing as well; the way I came unraveled. A Hetalia fanfic...
1. AN

Hello my little derplings, so I decided to write a Hetalia fic! (Maybe this makes you happy maybe it doesn't, I have no idea.) Anyways I should go ahead and let you know that 1. It is going to be pretty long (hopefully) ranging anywhere from 40,000 to 100,000+ Words, just depending on how much I get into this.

I made an OC, yes, as much as you may hate me for it. *Raises hands in surrender* Please don't shoot! But she is not a Mary-Sue, nor will she have all of the Hetalia boys falling for her (if any of them do, that is) She won't be hopping in and out of showers, or popping her Ps, or drinking any Starbucks, or throwing her hair in messy buns, or staring into anyone's "orbs" (Seriously why does everyone refer to eyes as orbs, I mean, do you even English?), or doing whatever it is that all these Mary-Sued OCs do these days. Because unlike the supermodel beautiful/hyper-intelligent/talented in every way possible Mary-Sues that we see sometimes, she's not perfect.

Nobody's perfect.

*Cue Hannah Montana Song*

Hehe...

And if she does end up being a Mary Sue, I give you permission to punch me; right through the screen of your phone/computer/whatever device you're using to read this.

Anyways off of that note (I was rambling, as usual. What a surprise.) It's about time you stopped listen to moi, the annoying author, and read the story.

There will be a ship, and probably some crack pairings as well. (There is obviously romance in this, people) Ohonhonhon *nudge nudge* *wink wink* *suggestive smirk* I'm pretty bad at writing anything lemony though... But maybe I'll get better, or maybe I'll just write a lime and be happy with it... Or maybe idk. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

And as always, I do not own Hetalia. All credits go to Hidekazu Himaruya. The only thing I did was write this story.


	2. Chapter 1

_"Life is either a great adventure, or nothing." -Helen Keller_

* * *

I had always hated my name.

It sounds rather idiotic, the thought of someone hating their own name; the very title that they would be stuck with for the entirety of their life.

But still I hated it. Probably more than I loathed any other feature of myself.

It was a silly name. One that actually might have been pleasing on another girl. One with dark hair and flawless, porcelain skin, and the dazzling eyes of a china doll. But, regrettably, I was none of those things.

The lovely title that I had been stuck with just so happened to be Christine. Not a terrible name, honestly, but one that belonged in the past few centuries, not where I was living today.

And my parents obviously didn't have the foresight to give me a more interesting title. Like Olivia, or Taylor, or Ashley, or Brittany, or anything else that didn't have to be associated with the ever proper and classical name of Christine.

After all, I was rather far from being any kind of high class, not simply in my lack of manners but also in my lack of wealthy, pretentious relatives. Although, it would have been nice to have a supply of snooty family members. Who didn't want someone to mooch off of every now and again?

All the same, I was still stuck with my proper little name, and there was nothing I could do to change it.

I had been named after my great-great grandfather. Not just one great, but two, which makes him so much greater than before, obviously. And his wonderful name just so happened to be –surprise- Christian.

I was one of the lucky few women in this world to be named after a literal, and actual man. My mother thought it was just the loveliest thing to ever happen, to have a little bouncing baby girl named Christine. I absolutely loathed the whole idea of it.

So, from the time I was thirteen until the time I would die, I decided to go by the much more informal, Chris, to my mother's great chagrin. After all, who would want their lovely little girl to develop such an embittered attitude and change her name to that of a man's? (Although, I tried to remind her, that she had named me after a male in the first place.)

My mother was rather adamant about somethings, however, and continued to squawk whenever she heard someone refer to me by the nickname.

She continued to squawk about everything, really. There wasn't much changing it.

* * *

...Atlanta, Georgia; April 24th, At some ungodly hour in the morning...

* * *

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The same, adamant noise blared in my ears, urging me to peel open my sleepy eyes.

And yet, after all the torture, after the incessant, blaringly loud sound, I refused to move, trying in vain to cling onto the few shards that still remained of my peaceful slumber.

I was getting rather tired of the whole thing, having to wake up at such an ungodly hour in the morning. Sure, it was better than having to go to classes at the same time as Mackenzie, my roommate, who happened to have her very first class of the day at the lovely 7:30 in the morning.

But she was also, I reminded myself, quite the early bird. So waking up was actually enjoyable for her. I should have never agreed to room with her, my close friend from high school. I still didn't trust her. No one can wake up at five o'clock in the morning without hiding some dark secret. I was still halfway convinced that she was the Antichrist.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The cruel sound made its way back to my ears, and I finally peeled open my tired eyes, ones that most likely championed a rather menacing pair of dark circles underneath. After all, it wasn't my fault that I just had to stay up until 2:30 last night. Binge watching a plethora of different television shows that I discovered seemed to be a rather important hobby of mine.

Mackenzie scolded me something fierce about my unhealthy habit, but I ignored her and pressed on, watching intensely until I had downed yet another season of a murder series, or some other popular show, or maybe an anime, it really just depended on what I was in the mood for.

I grumbled and finally opened my eyes as much as they were willing to, which happened to be just a small bit, and I took in the already bright room.

Damn it. Mackenzie must have flicked the lights on when she left. Typical of her, always trying to help me whenever I needed it. The sneaky bitch.

And yet I loved her. She had stuck beside me through thick and thin, and was one of my few real friends. Sure I had the typical collection of acquaintances. But all of them were plaintive, none of them real friends. I was more guarded in that area of my life. Friendship wasn't about whose been there the longest, after all, it's about who came, and who stayed. And although Mackenzie and I had only known each other for a few years, she had stuck by my side for the entire time.

I groaned and finally got up, casually sliding off my small bed and standing up in our cozy little dorm room. If you could get by with cozy. I personally preferred to describe it as cramped, uncomfortable, more of a broom closet than an actual place for one human to live, much less two. But we made do with it all the same.

I padded across the floor to my dresser, and pulled out something casual to wear for the day. Glancing up at the map of the world that was hanging above the piece of furniture, I smiled; letting the distant dreams I had of travel comfort me momentarily.

It took me only a moment to change into the pair of skinny jeans and fitted white top. I was my usual boring self as I proceeded to drag through my morning routine.

And after about twenty minutes or so, I grabbed my satchel and headed out the door.

* * *

...Atlanta, Georgia; April 24th, 5:21 pm...

* * *

Classes flew by that day, and soon I found myself with plenty of free time. It was lovely, really, the amount of shows I was able to buzz through as I continued to procrastinate finishing up some classwork. I was halfway through an episode of Arrow too, when I was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. I probably would have ignored it too, but when I saw the familiar name of Mackenzie pop up onto the screen, I decided to answer.

"Duh Herro?' I purred into the phone, making the faux Asian accent that entertained her so.

"Hey, Chris." She replied, her phone buzzing in a strangely foreign way as it was transmitted to my cell. "I know that your classes end earlier than usual on Fridays, so I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me and some friends. We're thinking of hitting up Roxx. Do you think you'd want to come?"

I paused a moment, thinking it over.

"What friends?"

"Just some people I know from Tech."

"What a vague description." I mused, and I could practically hear her roll her eyes at my response.

"Oh come on, stop being that way. Where's that sweet, social butterfly that I used to know?" She inquired, and I pursed my lips, scoffing into the phone.

"Please, I've always been an antisocial caterpillar." I retorted proudly, earning a snort from the other line.

"Just come on Ms. Caterpillar." She teased, and I sighed, giving in like I normally did.

"Fine."

"Good."

"Okay, whatever. I'll see you in a bit. Love ya." I announced, and I could barely make out her garbled goodbye as I pressed the end call button on my cell phone.

* * *

...Atlanta, Georgia; May 11th, 3:17 pm...

* * *

And I had somehow managed to make it through two more of the grueling weeks of school, going to dinner after dinner with Mackenzie and friends, writing paper after paper for my classes, and taking exam after exam, all in the hopes of passing my classes. (Which, by some miracle of God, I had.) But finally; finally I was freed from the uniformity of my boring life and the strain of classes.

Break had come, and with it, the end of my freshman year.

I had the entire two, almost three months to myself. And for the first time in a while, I was free to travel, to finally achieve what I had been hoping so long to do-

Actually. I really needed a job.

And some money…

Maybe my imagination had gotten the better of me when I fantasied about summer.

All the same, I did have the small trip planned. Hopefully that would give me the relaxation I so craved before it was time to work again.

* * *

...Off the coast of Miami, Florida; May 15th, with a girl who was stupid enough to forget a watch...

* * *

It was disappointing.

Actually, disappointing wasn't quite the right word. It was more than that, something along the lines of completely and utterly devastating, a complete let down, the main reason why this vacation had been ruined.

And they were lucky I had somehow managed to suppress the utter rage I was feeling because of this fatal mistake. It was my fault, after all, so why should I burden someone else with my unnecessary shouting?

_Because it feels good to let out stress…_I thought, but pushed it away.

I hadn't booked the cruise ship in time. I had been an incompetent fool, someone who lacked the foresight to plan for the future. Someone who, humoring herself for her lack of funds, had wanted to wait till the month before to see if they had any last minute deals on rooms.

They didn't.

In fact, they didn't have any rooms left at all.

I'm pretty sure I had just set a new record for world's biggest procrastinator.

I was pitiful.

"Doing alright Ma'am?"

The voice broke through my thoughts, interrupting my revolting attempt at wallowing in my own misery.

"Yeah, I'm doing just peachy." I retorted, and it ended up sounding like I was snapping at him. The man frowned and shrugged, walking away from me in disinterest.

He didn't care. No one did. Maybe if someone actually cared I would have my ass being carted away from the Florida port on a luxurious cruise ship like I had originally planned, instead of being stuck on this dingy piece of shit…

'Calm down, Christine.' I internally scolded myself. 'Look at the bright side of things.'

_'There is no bright side.'_

'Sure there is. Just think about how lucky you are to have found a ship willing to take you last minute. You wouldn't even be able to go to the Bahamas if not for the kind captain.'

_'Whatever_.'

I grumbled and looked around the pitiful excuse of a passenger ship. Well, makeshift passenger ship. It looked more like something someone would use to transport cargo with; crates were sitting around everywhere.

I _really _was stupid.

A complete and utter idiot, the biggest fool in the history of mankind.

Why hadn't I listened to Mackenzie? Why hadn't I just booked a room with her? Why did I have to be so stubborn and tell her that I would do it myself, that I was responsible enough to book my own trip, without the help of my friends?

I wasn't responsible. I was the extreme opposite of responsible.

And yet, for some idiotic reason, I had thought myself the most responsible person in the world. I had considered myself the absolute epitome of brilliance, thinking that I, the sliest of people, would be able to get score some deal. A discount, one that I could rub in the face of my friends that actually knew what responsibility was.

Oh how wrong I had been.

And yet here I was, stubborn as ever, determined to get to the Bahamas even if it killed me.

A complete and utter moron.

A young woman, such as myself, getting onto a boat with a plethora of strange men and traveling with them for two days…

My lack of common sense continued to surprise me.

Suddenly the rank scent of filth hit my nose, and I gagged, noticing the disgusting men around me, all of whom stuck with the putrid scent of stale sweat.

"Can this really get any worse?" I groaned.

* * *

...Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean; May 15th, at night, when I _should _have been sleeping...

* * *

Apparently it could.

Aside from the meager excuse of a meal I had been given, and the cramped little cabin I was forced to share with the two other women on the boat, (surprisingly enough there were actually other females on this ship) the incessant rocking of the vessel, combined with the sickening smell, was enough to make me sick.

And now, with my notably terrific good luck, a storm had decided to come, shaking the boat more than ever and causing leaks to pop up everywhere.

The waters rose, the rain blew and beat against the small vessel, and after already an hour of the violent storm had gone on, the still seemed to be no end.

I sat nervously on my bunk, and listened as the waves continued to churn around our little boat, propelled onward by the insatiable lashing of the wind. My entire cabin was dark, filled with wraith like shadows that would slither around the small room as I cowered in fear, making a feeble attempt to comfort myself.

The boat shook.

And wrapped anxiously in the thin sheet that covered my cot, I shook as well.

I wasn't typically afraid of weather. In fact, I usually found the sound of rain comforting to me, the soft rumble of thunder pleasing me as I lazily wasted my time during the rainiest of days.

But this was different.

There was something much more sinister about this storm.

I could feel it, and although I typically didn't have a knack for having the best sense of danger, I knew for once that I was right.

Something was about to happen, I could tell.

And the very thought of that made my stomach churn even worse than the unforgiving waves outside.

* * *

...Still Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean; May 15th, Currently stuck without any way to tell the time...

* * *

More time passed, and the storm raged on, but finally, when I could stand it no longer, I rose from my cot, shakily making my way across the minute expanse of room.

Climbing the cramped steps, I made it up to the door that would lead out onto the deck of the ship, and I jerked it open, allowing an unprecedented blast of rain and wind to rip through the sleeping quarters, taking me with it.

I went tumbling backwards down the steps, hitting my elbows and knees in ways that I knew would champion a lovely collection of bruises in the morning.

Groaning I stood back up, and clambered back up the unforgiving stairwell until I reached the top, this time prepared for what was to come.

Walking out onto the deck of the boat, I was immediately blown away by the astonishing power of the storm.

I stumbled across the deck, and received shouts from the men rushing around the boat as I did so.

"Woman go back down to the cabins!"

"Dammit she's going to get blown away!"

"Stop!"

I ignored them and simply pressed forward, mesmerized by the crashing of waves. The rain cut into my skin with the intensity of a knife, and my long hair whipped around me in the torrent, becoming sodden and tangled as a result of the weather.

"I told you we shouldn't have traveled through the Bermuda Triangle! Especially not this time of year!" A sailor shouted at the captain, who shouted an equally enthusiastic string of curses back at his fellow mariner.

And still I continued to ignore it all; even the primal instinct that I possessed within me that adamantly ordered me to return to the cot.

Something was going to happen I knew it.

_'Of course something is going to happen you idiot! If you don't return to the cabin you're going to get blown off the ship!' _I internally screamed at myself.

But I didn't mind, being in the storm felt good for some reason, as if being able to be saturated all at once by my fears made it easier to be less afraid.

Maybe it did, maybe it didn't. I still wouldn't know. All I know is that I would never be able to forget what had happened next.

A loud scream split through the thick atmosphere bearing down upon us, and as I turned to see where the source of it was, I noticed the very reason why it had been made.

A wave, one far more enormous than any I had ever seen before was preparing to crash down upon us.

And now it was my turn to scream as I felt my body flung backwards off of the ship. I was tossed back in forth in the torrent of the wave to who knows where, when suddenly my head smashed into something hard, causing me to hear a sickening crack and immediately black out in the deep blue of the ocean.

* * *

...Somewhere, at some time, still stuck in the Atlantic Ocean...

* * *

The boy saw her, the seemingly lifeless shape that appeared to be a body that slowly appeared to be sinking in the ocean. It took talent, and a keen eye to see such a thing, but after some quick maneuvering, and some rather fast thinking from the people on his boat, he had managed to lug her back to the small vessel he was on that would be transporting him home.

Once she was on the boat, they all looked over the body. And, upon closer inspection, the earlier shape appeared to be the body of a young woman, one who was hideously wounded.

The boy was forced to turn away, at least until she was a bit better.

He couldn't handle anyone wounded or bloodied, and he shouldn't have to either, he was still too young for those things.

But after a moment, he snuck another glance at her, his curiosity getting the better of him. He took her motionless body in.

She wasn't particularly pretty, in fact, she looked rather disgusting, what with the seaweed tangled around her, and the salty scent that covered her soaking body.

But all the same it would be a shame to see her die.

"Please help her." The boy muttered, finally forcing himself to turn away for good, and with that the people swarmed her, helping the young woman and reviving her before it was too late.


	3. Chapter 2

"It was horrible; the way I came unraveled. Spinning out of control, spiraling down into destruction. The way I fell, the beautiful, slow collapse of something so unprepared, something so unprecedented."

* * *

...Somewhere; Around May 16th, Probably in the morning...

* * *

I flickered my eyes open, letting them adjust to the simple, cream colored room. The light had flooded in through the open window, and a chilled air had filled the spacious room, causing everything to have a certain uncomfortable feel to it, which still happened to be better than the rude awakening I usually received from my alarm clock.

My alarm clock…

I shot up out of the bed, reality hitting me with an astounding force, one that even made it hard for me to stand on my own shaky feet.

And that's when I realized not only how strange of a setting I was in, but also what odd attire I was clothed in, and also just how beat up I seemed to be. Very beat up in fact. My head felt as though it had been cut in half with an axe.

And suddenly, it all came flooding back to me.

The boat.

The storm.

And then… this?

Was I dead, perhaps? Was this the afterlife? But then, why was it that I was still able to fill pain?

I hummed slightly in curiosity as I moved over to a mirror, only to jerk away in disgust when I saw my own revolting sight.

Seaweed was weaved in between tight knots in my thoroughly tangled hair, and I noticed the uncomfortable feeling of my stiff, salt encrusted clothing.

I shifted uncomfortably as I felt myself itch as a result of the substance that invaded my, scratching against me with an irritating urgency.

But my discomfort didn't matter now. What mattered was that I was currently in an unfamiliar, and potential threatening setting.

How I had ended up here I had yet to discover, but I was about to.

I carefully brushed myself off, and walked over to the door that led out of the room. Yanking it open, I was met by the sight of cool metal hallways, and a staircase that led up to who knows where at the other end of the corridor.

Sighing, I trudged down the hall and clambered up them, ignoring my previous experience with stairs, which happened to be much more horrid than this.

A bright light met me, and with it the gray skies that would account for the dampness that had been weighing me down ever since that window had been opened.

Scanning around the surface that I was standing on, which I determined to be the deck of some kind of oil rig or a fort of some sort, I noticed a single, young boy standing a few hundred yards away from me, staring out to the sea that surrounded us. I frowned and cautiously made my way over to him.

And all of a sudden he turned, and instead of seeing some dangerous creature like I had been wary of encountering, a simple young boy stood in front of me. He couldn't have been any older than 12.

He had a mess of shaggy straw colored hair that adorned his head, the strands looking mussed and untidy as he looked at me. A soft splattering of fading freckles covered his nose and part of his cheeks, similar to the ones that dotted my own pale complexion. Suddenly he smiled at me, a bright, reassuring look taking over his entire character as his eyes scrunched up and he flashed his crooked teeth at me.

I didn't return his grin, and instead kept the same stoic look on my own face. He looked harmless, and rather innocent, especially in that little sailor's uniform of his, but I didn't know for sure yet if I could trust him.

I still didn't even know where I was.

"Hullo Miss! It seems you've awoken!" He called, making his way over to me and closing the final bit of distance left between us, the broad smile still on his boyish face. The accent was clear in his voice, and immediately I knew that he had to be from Europe, somewhere probably near England. He sounded too much like someone from Britain not to be.

"It would appear that way." I replied, looking down at the particularly small boy in speculation. "But why exactly am I here? The last thing I recall was being on a boat in the Atlantic ocean."

"Well this sure isn't the Atlantic ocean, Miss. You're in the North Sea, just off the coast of England, in country of Sealand, in fact." He replied, a peculiar amount of boasting clear in his tone.

I frowned, the name of the country sounding vaguely familiar, although I was sure that I had never heard of it. All the same, I pushed it aside, and tried focusing on the more important, and much more pressing matter.

"The UK?" I blurted. "How the heck did I end up here? I was just off the coast of Florida."

"Well I was just coming back from visiting Cuba over some federal inquiries, and we just found you sinking in the waters, and so we decided to rescue you."

"Stop calling me Miss." I ordered, pinching the bridge of my nose as I tried to figure out some kind of way to wrap my head around all of this. "So you somehow rescued me, off the coast of Cuba, and brought me all the way back to the UK. You didn't even consider the prospect of me not wanting to be across the pond? Or that maybe I should have stayed where I belonged?"

"Well ma'am I was just trying to help. You appeared to be in distress." He protested, causing me to let out a frustrated sigh.

"Don't call me ma'am. My name's Chris. And anyways, I appreciate you trying to help me, but didn't you think to look for the ship I had been on? Maybe return me?"

"I'm sorry Chris, but I didn't see any other ships."

"This makes no logical sense! I should be dead right now! I fell off a boat, got sucked into a wave, and blacked out for crying out loud! I should be in hell; not trapped on some stinking boat in the middle of the North Sea!" I exclaimed somewhat hysterically, causing the blond boy in front of me to stamp his foot like an irritated toddler.

"Hey! My country is _not_ a boat! It's a proud fort! And one day it'll be strong enough to even crush the likes of England! He never even stood a chance!" He declared.

My face fell as I peered at the small boy in confusion, his bright blue eyes taking on a stunning amount of determination.

"Wait…" I paused, suddenly starting to recall some of the information on this 'country'. "I thought you said this was Sealand? Isn't that not even considered a country yet?"

"I am too a country!" He shouted in frustration, only causing my frown to deepen.

"You? I-I don't understand." I said, earning an astonishingly condescending look from the child. It was like he thought I was the epitome of idiocy.

"My name is Sealand, Miss."

I blanched, my hands falling uselessly at my sides as I gave him an utterly lost look.

"I'm Sealand." He repeated, but I continued to give him a blank look.

"You? You're Sealand?" I echoed, and he nodded.

"Yes ma'am."

"But why would your parents name you after the country you lived in?" I inquired, causing the little boy to erupt into laughter.

"My parents didn't name me Sealand. I _am _Sealand. I'm the country itself, manifested into human form. And anyways, I suppose you can call me Peter, that's what I prefer to go by. Peter Kirkland." He explained.

"What?" I deadpanned.

"Do I need to repeat it again?" He questioned teasingly, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

"What kind of prank is this?" I snapped. "How did you get me out of that storm and onto your little country kid?"

"It's not a prank, it's the truth." He stated, but I found it impossible to believe him. People weren't just rescued from a fatal accident. There was also not such thing as a human manifestation of a country. It was impossible. It was illogical; and I was a firm believer in logic.

"Listen kiddo, thanks for patching me up, I really needed it, but I still don't know how on earth I survived that storm, much less whoever the heck you are. But thanks for patching me up, I should be heading home back to the states now. Can I talk to your parents and ask if they know any local airports."

"I don't have parents." He said with a shrug, and I was taken aback by how simple he said it, like being an orphan didn't matter.

"Oh… I'm sorry. Well, do you know anyone on the mainland that I can speak with who could help get me back across the pond?"

"Well, I suppose I could take you to my big brother. He's really annoying most of the time, and a total jerk, but I think he could help you get back to America." The little boy offered. I nodded, slightly skeptical that he even had a big brother, much less one who'd be willing to help me, but I just went with it, ignoring the pressing concern that the child seemed to be just a little off in the head.

* * *

...Apparently stuck in England; Around May 16th, late afternoon...

* * *

After a wretched span of time in a boat, and then a few even more taxing hours stuck in a car, we had finally arrived at the place he claimed his brother resided in, and I reluctantly got out of the vehicle we had been transported in.

The young boy instinctively took my hand as soon as we exited the car, and I gave him a look of surprise before it melted into a smile as I gripped his own grimy hand tightly in my own.

I was as filthy as ever, I realized, and the stiff clothes still covered my ever uncomfortable body, but there wasn't anything I could do to help fix my appearance before I asked his elder brother for help.

Besides, if the man didn't help me, I'd just have to force him to. I was running out of options and ways to get back home. I could only imagine how worried Mackenzie was, and how nervous everyone would be if I didn't show up at the Bahamas on time. My mother wouldn't notice my absence, she never did. But that still didn't mean I wouldn't miss her a bit, albeit begrudgingly. And what about my dad…

"Chris?"

The young boy's voice broke through my thoughts as he released my hand, and I glanced down at him, smiling slightly.

"Yeah kid?"

"I told you to call me Peter." He grumbled, and I laughed slightly, patting him on the head, which only served to make him more irritated.

"Whatever shorty." I replied, and he grumbled again before moving closer towards the large house.

If it could even be called that. The building itself looked more like a mansion, the castle like home looking exceptionally extravagant as the decorations on the outside sprawled upwards towards the several towers that made an appearance on the building.

"Are you gonna knock?" He pressed, and I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, I was planning on doing that next."

I strode up the steps leading to the enormous wooden door that stood at the very front of the house, raising my fist as I prepared to knock on the door.

I tapped hard against it, rapping my hand against the wood of the door, and after a moment of silence, I could hear the quiet shuffling of feet behind it as someone pulled it open.

A man with bushy blond hair similar to the boy who called himself Sealand stared at me, his brown eyes widening in surprise as he took me in. But his most prominent feature, the one I noticed first, was the exceptionally bushy eyebrows that he hid his eyes underneath.

He blinked at me for a moment, before finally addressing me.

"Who are you? And why is _he _with you?" The man blurted, his accent lilting over every one of the words. I should have been expecting it. He sounded, and even looked, particularly British.

"My name's Chris." I stated, and before I could even get another word in, a look of revolt filled his face.

"Damn it! Another bloody American!" He blurted, slamming the door in my face.

I was left dumbfounded as I stared at the door, shocked by just how rude he'd been to me. But after a shocked moment, my temper flared up as I banged on the massive door.

"Hey! You dumb Brit! Open up the damn door!" I ordered, pounding my fist against the wooden door.

Suddenly it swung back open, and I lowered my hand as he gave me an utterly condescending look.

"What do _you _want?" He jeered, and I scowled at him.

"Don't get your panties in a wad, your majesty." I retorted, earning a sour look from the man.

"I will not hesitate to slam this door in your face a second time."

"Okay, okay. Next time I'll be sure to show you some good ol' American hospitality." I announced sarcastically, and he rolled his eyes.

"Sure."

"Anyways, I ought to explain myself, I'm with this kiddo here because he saved me from the cold, unforgiving waters of the ocean. And I need to get back to my home in America, so he offered to take me to find help, which led me to you."

"And why would I want to help the likes of you?"

"Listen up pal, if I wanted a bitch I would've bought a dog." I snapped, earning a loathing look from the man. "We're starting off horribly, so let's start over. I'm Chris. And somehow I wound up on this little kid's fort after I blacked out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. I was wondering if you'd be able to explain to me exactly how this little boy saved me, and what I'm doing here. And also why he keeps calling himself Sealand. He's clearly not a country. He's a little boy."

"Well aren't you asking for a lot?" He grumbled, some of the bitterness leaving his tone. "But I don't particularly enjoy helping rude and foul mouthed Americans like you. So you should look somewhere else."

"England why do you have to always be so rude?!" A high pitched voice interrupted from behind us, but we both ignored the child, choosing to continue our own conversation.

"I don't see why you hate Americans so much. You're our brother. And don't you remember any of the French and Indian war? Where we fought together against France? Don't you remember the World Wars? We were allies. Just because you think you're better than us doesn't mean you need to be such a snob." I grumbled, causing him to raise his bushy eyebrows slightly in surprise.

"You certainly know your history." He remarked, and I shrugged.

"I just had to write my end of term paper on the relationship between England and America for my International Studies class. I'd like to think that I've stuffed my brain with as much international history as it could possibly fit." I replied, and after a moment he took me in again, nodding.

"Well, you're still filthy."

I crossed my arms.

"Is that all you can muster?" I inquired, raising a testing eyebrow, and he frowned again.

"No, I can say quite a bit more, but I'm choosing to keep my mouth shut in order not to set you off again. It's hard enough as it is to hear your pitiful comebacks." He stated, smirking arrogantly at me. I thought better of myself before I made another snarky remark again, and decided to tone my attitude down a bit. After all, there was no way he would be helping me if I kept being a jerk to him.

So I huffed and kept my mouth shut.

"Oh, at a loss of words are you? I must say, that's quite surprising for someone of your heritage." He continued, and my face heated up.

"Okay, I came here because this sweet little boy said you'd help me, and frankly, I need as much help as I can get. I know you must think that I'm a burden, but please, I don't know where I am, and I don't know how to get home." I blurted angrily, in a last minute attempt to get some help, but he didn't respond, continuing to give me that same condescending look.

So I turned on my heel, walking over to where the blond kid stood at the foot of the steps and grabbing his hand.

"Come on kiddo, we're going." I snapped, making my way to the vehicle that had brought us here.

"But wait, I thought you said you wanted to go home!" He exclaimed, a pained expression on his face as he looked up at me. "How are you going to do that without my big brother's help?"

"I'll figure out something. There's plenty of other people in the world, aren't there? So I'll just find someone else." I stated, yanking open the door of the car.

But before I could climb in, an irritated voice interrupted the two of us.

"Hey! I'll help you alright. No need to be so stubborn."

I turned back around, narrowing my eyes as I examined the Brit, whose entire demeanor had changed. No longer did he seem to be the uptight man from earlier, he looked much softer, and an embarrassed flush even spread a bit over his face.

"Really?" I tried to sound skeptical, but my voice came out in a much more relieved tone.

"It's the job of a gentleman to help a lady in need." He added with a nod, stepping aside and motioning for us to come into his home.

I shut the door and begrudgingly made my way towards his extravagant house, holding the child's hand in mine the entire time. He seemed to be the only person that would be somewhat of a friend to me so far, so therefore I wasn't going to let go of him to easily.

* * *

...In a random dude's home; Around May 16th, Even later in the afternoon, perhaps the evening...

* * *

I sat on the overstuffed couch, drumming my fingers across my leg in impatience. The man had led us in and ordered the two of us to sit on one the couches in his particularly regal living room.

It was rather ornate, at least the small portion of his home that I had seen so far, and everything was beautifully decorated with a collection of what must have been knock-offs of famous artworks and a plethora of tapestries.

"I was going to serve tea, but I realize you'll probably want to bathe first. In fact, I'd rather you bathe first, you look rather filthy, and your discomfort is almost tangible." The man with the bushy eyebrows called, making his way into the living area from the kitchen. I looked up at him, and melted into a little puddle of thankfulness.

It wasn't like I could help it anyways; I had wanted to be clean for ages now.

"Oh really? Thank you so much." I blurted, jumping up from my seat on the couch. The man nodded.

"The women's bathroom is up the stairs, two doors down, on the right. The lady's powder room is connected to it through a door, you'll be able to get dressed and tidied up there. I'll send a maid to help you get dressed after you get out."

"You have _maids?_" I breathed, my eyes widening into saucers as I looked at him in disbelief.

"Yes, of course." He answered, as if having a plethora of maids at one's disposal was the most natural thing ever. "Now go get clean, I haven't all day."

"Yeah sure." I answered, trying to contain my giddiness as I fast walked away from the living area and towards the stairwell. After I was out of their immediate eyesight, I flew up them, racing towards the place where the bathroom should have been.

It had taken me longer than I liked to admit to find the restroom, but once I had finally stumbled upon it, I had thrown myself inside like a giddy schoolgirl, grinning wildly as I locked the door and peeled my filthy clothes off.

I turned the water up to a temperature that would've burned any normal man to death. But, after all, women liked taking such hot showers because it reminded them of hell, the place they had come from.

I stepped into the shower, letting the scalding water comfort me. I sighed in relief as the droplets of water hit my bare skin, somehow managing to seep deep into the layers of my epidermis, warming not only my body, but my entire being.

I shifted in the luxuriously large shower, just relaxing and letting the water remove the crusty layer of salt from my body before I even bothered to pick up a bar of soap.

Running my hands along the ivory walls of the shower, I smiled to myself and closed my eyes.

Eventually I got around to using the soap he had provided me with, and I grinned even broader as I let myself be overcome by the comforting scent of almonds.

Finally, after what felt like hours, I shut off the water and climbed out onto the towel that waited on the marble floor.

A sudden chill rushed at me, and I shivered as the cold air bit at me, contrasting dramatically with the boiling water from earlier.

I wrapped my long hair in a towel, and then proceeded to cover myself with a second, one that was far fluffier than the first.

Grabbing a stick of deodorant that sat on the counter, I removed the lid, happily noticing that it had yet to be used. I removed the layer of plastic and then applied some. I found a toothbrush and an unopened stick of toothpaste as well, and busied myself with scrubbing away my morning breath.

Oh morning breath. How wonderful it is for you to visit me.

After I had finished u, I gingerly opened the second door, padding out of the bathroom and into what the Englishman had described as the powder room, and sure enough, standing there waiting on me was an elderly woman wearing a rather conservative maid uniform.

I squeaked when I saw her, remembering that I was wearing little more than a towel to cover my body.

"C-Can you go out for a second so I can at least put some underwear on?" I blurted, tightening the towel around me, and she laughed slightly, nodding at me.

"Of course Miss." She replied, her voice sounding distinctly like an unoiled door hinge, but doing so in a way that made it sound surprisingly pleasant.

And with that she left the room, walking out into the hallway that it was connected to.

I sighed and let the towel drop to the floor as I walked over to where a pile of clothes was neatly folded on the vanity. I took the undergarments that sat on the very top of the pile and quickly slipped them on, ignoring everything else in the stack as I called the maid back into the room.

It wasn't until she had helped me wriggle into the dress that I began to realize exactly what I was getting myself into.

"Come here child." She ordered, motioning me over to where she stood a few feet away. I stepped closer, and she adjusted the dress on me, making sure the loose material was positioned right. And all of a sudden I felt a strange restraint, as if a snake had encircled my middle, and was now squeezing the life out of my rib cage and lungs.

I gasped as she tightened what I had now realized to be a built in corset, the dress constraining my middle as she did so.

"Does it have to be so tight?" I whined, earning several tsks from the maid as she continued to try and squeeze the very life out of me.

"You Americans… Always wanting to wear something casual. You're a lady, it's only proper for you to look dignified." She explained, her accent singing over her words in a way that I could only detect as one from Whales.

"I'm perfectly dignified in sweatpants." I grumbled, but she ignored me, finally finishing the process of breaking my ribcage. She carefully tied off the ribbon that held the corset together, and pushed me in the direction of the closet.

"Well you have a lovely figure child. I don't see why you'd want to hide it with such untasteful clothing." She announced. "Now go find a pair of shoes that fit. We have several pairs of heels-"

"I'm not wearing heels." I exclaimed. "I don't know what you think this is, but I'm not some kind of doll you can just dress up to your liking. You've already put me in this stuffy dress, don't think you can pile makeup on me or make me wear heels next."

She huffed, and I grabbed the single pair of flats that sat in the closet, frowning when I saw the lack of practical shoes.

"At least brush you hair, child, it looks rather ridiculous to walk around with a rat's nest on one's head."

"Well obviously I'm going to brush my hair." I retorted, moving back over to the vanity and picking up the boar brush, beginning to yank it through my mass of brown hair.

The elderly woman sighed after it got stuck several times and I continued trying to rip it through.

"Let me do it dear." She said, and suddenly I felt the brush being removed from my grip and gently being pushed through my locks.

It had taken less than five minutes for her to brush through my entire thicket of hair, and as soon as she was finished, the maid shoved me towards the mirror.

"Examine yourself and then go downstairs, England wishes to speak with you."

_England?_

I ignored the questioning thought and looked in the mirror at the image of a person so unlike myself. A woman stood before me, clothed in a cream dress that was unhealthily tight around her middle. Something that she would have never worn if she had the choice.

_'It was either this or your birthday suit, and Lord knows how prude you can be.'_ I reminded myself, puckering my lips at my own comment.

_'I'm not prude.' _I countered, practically hearing myself scoff in response.

"I don't see why you have such a hard time brushing your hair." The maid mused from across the room. "It's straight as a board, doesn't make a difference if it's long or not."

I grumbled and ignored her comment, my eyes falling down to a much more pressing problem that this dress presented.

"Do you have a jacket or something?" I inquired suddenly, a flush spreading across my face.

"Why? It's not cold out."

"Well umm… it's just that this dress seems a little…" I trailed off, my eyes glancing at my cleavage in apprehension. "immodest."

"Are you being serious?"

"Maybe an entirely different dress would do the trick." I went on. "Perhaps something without this vile corset."

"Go downstairs." She said with a sigh, and I hung my head, dragging my feet behind me as I exited the room.

More like waddled out, actually. Moving in such a constrictive article of clothing was harder than it looked, thus why I tried to stick with comfortable things such as hoodies, and sweats.

I continued my walk, I mean my waddle, down the stairs and into the main area of the living room, where the British man and the little sailor boy sat waiting patiently for me. The boy smiled when he saw me, and the man nodded in approval.

"Thank God I had spare clothes. You look much better now."

"Are you saying that I looked bad before?" I inquired, crossing my arms. He raised an eyebrow.

"You looked hideous." He deadpanned, and I laughed at his blunt honesty.

"Well she looks pretty now." Peter piped up, and I relaxed a bit, thankful that I could at least rely on him for backup. "Just because she was dirty before."

"I suppose that wasn't the kindest thing of me to say to a lady. My apologies." The man, whom I had officially dubbed 'Eyebrows' stated, and I simply shrugged.

"Don't apologize, you shouldn't say sorry. I can appreciate it when someone tells it to me how it is. Sometimes people need to dish it out without holding back."

"Agreed." Eyebrows replied with a nod, and I grinned at the two males.

"So that I'm all tidied up, I suppose you wouldn't be surprised to hear me say that I'm absolutely starving? I haven't eaten in hours, and I don't think tea and scones with hit the spot either." I announced, and suddenly Eyebrows seemed to perk up.

"Would you like for me to cook?" He exclaimed, jumping up from the couch with surprising speed.

"Sure?" I said, but it sounded more like a question than an answer.

"Good, I'll be serving up a good old Breakfast as your dinner. And because my brothers are out on some official business of their own, I'll have the whole kitchen to myself in order to make our meal extra special."

Immediately he bolted from the living area and into the kitchen, trying a rather ridiculous 'kiss the cook' apron around his middle and flashing me an unprecedented grin before he began to raid the fridge for ingredients. I gave him a dubious look, but decided to let the matter go and allow him to cook, waiting rather impatiently at the table as my stomach begged me for food.


End file.
